Page 12 of Promised to the Worst Duke in England (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #2)

June 28, 1815

Imogen yawned as she made her way to the morning room. The duke had proved himself quite virile last night, for after she’d retired following the energetic coupling in the private parlor, she’d retired to her suite, but at some point during the night, he’d come in, woken her up, and claimed her from behind with slow, almost tender strokes. Once they’d both finished, he’d returned to his rooms, and that choice had left her confused and a bit bemused.

Now she was reaping the consequences of those events.

She met Mrs. Phelps at the doorway to that room. The housekeeper gave her a warm, welcoming smile. “You seem quite knackered, my dear. Are your newfound responsibilities to the title wearing on you?”

“You could say that.” It wasn’t that far from the truth, but part of those responsibilities was being a wife to a man driven by secrets or demons, who wouldn’t share that part of his life, and because of that, she couldn’t puzzle him out. “Has the modiste said when she would bring my new gown? The ball is in two days, and I’m worried it won’t be completed in time.”

“She didn’t, but don’t fret. I’ve never known her to miss a deadline, and for a duchess, no less.” The older, matronly woman gave Imogen an encouraging smile. “But if you’d like, I can send one of the maids to her shop in the village and inquire.”

“I can wait, but truth to tell, I’m quite looking forward to wearing that gown. I’ve never had anything so exquisite.”

The housekeeper led the way into the room. “I’m sure it will be spectacular. The maids have talked of little else since the fitting a few days ago.” She waved Imogen into a chair at the round table where so often she took breakfast because she liked the cozy feel of this room over the dining room. “You’ll be a princess, and His Grace will have no choice but to take notice.”

Imogen couldn’t help but snort. “We shall see.” Truth be told, she was incredibly nervous about the upcoming ball. Even after meeting with Mrs. Phelps and Landers since Averly had given her the responsibility, she didn’t feel confident that it wouldn’t somehow go terribly wrong.

As soon as the housekeeper sat at the table with her, the butler came into the room. They both greeted him, and because he was so organized, he laid a notebook on the table in front of him when he sat.

“Have we started yet?”

“No.” Imogen shook her head. “Thank you both for taking time out of your busy schedules to help me do this. I would have been completely lost without you.” Which would be her first failure as duchess and cause Alan embarrassment. “None of this would be possible without both of you. I hope Averly realizes that you both are treasures.”

The two servants exchanged surprised glances but said nothing.

Imogen hid a smile lest they think she found amusement in them. “Are there any last-minute concerns? I want to make this midsummer ball something to be proud of instead of something society looks upon with horror, shame, and curiosity.”

Landers frowned. “As much as I look forward to the change, what of His Grace’s wishes? He is usually quite specific when hosting this event.”

“The duke can hang.” Surely, he understood that making the ball more respectable would only help how he was perceived in society? “Averly gave me the planning of this event. I am here now and I’m in charge. He can do what he wishes with his life, but I won’t have the name and title run through the muck any longer.” She offered both of them a smile she hoped conveyed confidence. “No drinking to excess, no orgies, no whoring, no excessive gambling outside of a couple of card rooms. There will be dancing, a refreshment table, retiring rooms, nighttime tours of the gardens, perhaps billiards for the men. My husband can do the pretty at my side, or he can retire upstairs.”

Had she come on too strongly?

Then Mrs. Phelps chuckled like a pleased hen. “I think you will do quite well as the Duchess of Averly, and we will all be better for it.”

“I agree.” The butler nodded. Amusement lit his eyes. “For the past six years, ever since His Grace’s father died, I had hoped the current duke would see there was more to live for than vices and destruction; I remember him as a young man, and I didn’t wish to see him fall to the pressures of the title.”

The housekeeper nodded. “He needs the care and attention of a good woman.” When she put her gaze on Imogen, Landers did the same while heat sank into her cheeks. “Perhaps we shall soon see a change in him.”

“Uh… I don’t know if that will happen, but we can hope.” It might not have been the height of proper to discuss her husband like that with servants, but these people had been with him for many years, and they truly seemed to care about him like family would.

Or rather better families than what she—or he—had been given.

“Don’t worry, my dear, all marriages are awkward and sometimes difficult in the beginning, especially when the couple doesn’t know each other well.” Mrs. Phelps gave a nod of encouragement. “Everything will come out right as rain.”

Imogen frowned. How could anyone know that? Beyond how she got on physically with Averly, there had been precious little else shared. Add to that the fact her cousin—on her orders—had tried to kill the duke? It was a recipe for brewing disaster, for how could Averly trust her after that? “What if it doesn’t?” she asked in a low voice.

“Then you will find a way to tackle that problem too,” Landers responded with a somber expression and nothing but earnestness in his eyes. “Already, His Grace has made the effort to be less reliant on brandy. It will be a difficult road at times, but with you he’ll trod it just fine.”

Unexpected tears rose into her eyes. “Thank you both. This has been a huge adjustment for me, and though I haven’t been here long, I’m certain there will be times when the responsibilities will make me feel as if I’m drowning. I’m glad to know you’re here.” Because when she failed in this position—and she would—it was lovely knowing she wouldn’t be alone, for Averly would certainly abandon her.

A soft knock on the open door interrupted whatever any of them would say next.

The butler immediately stood as John the footman came into the room. “What is it?”

“Uh, there is a Mr. Philip Rhoades here to see Her Grace,” John said with a red flush rising up his neck. “I told him to remain in the entry hall until I could discern what to do with him, for he refuses to leave without seeing you, my lady.”

Oh, dear lord. Has trouble finally come home to roost?

With the urge to retch filling her throat, Imogen slowly rose to her feet. “That is quite all right, John. Did he agree to stay in the entry hall?” She hadn’t informed them that Philip was her cousin but didn’t think it mattered.

“He did not.” The young footman shook his head. “Instead, he went out to walk the property, said to tell you to meet him in the orchards. That there was something immediate he needed to discuss.”

“I see.” Did he wish to know if she wanted to proceed with her earlier favor? Knots of worry pulled in her belly. She forced a hard swallow into her throat to encourage moisture there. “Thank you, John. I will seek him out as soon as I can.” Once the footman left with a nod, she bounced her gaze between Landers and the housekeeper. “Mrs. Phelps, please oversee the decoration of the ballroom. While I have complete faith in the maids, we are rapidly running out of time, and I want that space to look like a flower garden and bower in keeping with a romantic midsummer theme.” It was something that gave her joy.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Good.” She nodded. “I’ll pop in when I can. Get the footmen on ladders to speed the process. If I remember correctly, the florist will be here later this afternoon.” Then she looked at the butler. “Oh, and if you could have the gardeners move a few of the Roman statues from the rear gardens into the ballroom for me? I would appreciate it.”

“I will, Your Grace.” But he looked at her with speculation.

“Thank you.” Heat slapped at her cheeks once more. Did she have the strength to not only keep her husband from going back to his old, scandalous ways, but also to convince her cousin that she didn’t want him to harm the duke any longer? After their couplings last night, she felt ever closer to Alan, as if they might find a common balance soon, and all of that could be ruined by one wrong step from either of them. “Well, I should go see what Mr. Rhoades wants. I’ll return to the manor as quickly as I can.”

Then she fled the morning room with worry filling her chest. If Alan found out about this clandestine meeting, she wasn’t certain what he would do, but it wouldn’t be good.

“Philip?” Imogen hissed the moment she entered the apple orchard. Immediately, the tree leaves dappled and shaded the sun, but it was remarkably cooler within the wooded area. “Where are you?”

She wasn’t best pleased, for his timing was horrible. Before she’d left the house, one of the maids she’d passed had said Averly was searching for her, wanted to take her into the village for an afternoon’s entertainment, which had spurred her steps faster for fear he would intercept her and ask after her errand.

What would she say, that she’d asked her cousin—and sometimes lover—to kill him for daring to marry her after all this time?

The deeper she wandered into the orchard, the more she fumed at her cousin for daring to even show his face on the property, which would put her whole union, that teetered on a razor’s edge, in jeopardy.

“Ah, Imogen, finally!” Before she could respond or even turn about, Philip caught her up into his arms, whirled her about in the air, and when he set her on her feet again, he held her head between his palms then kissed her.

Oddly, though he’d done that many times in the past—and she had initiated many more with him—it felt all too wrong now. Those lips didn’t seem right pressed against hers for the sheer fact that they weren’t Alan’s. She wriggled until she was able to plant her palms against his chest, and after giving him a hard shove, she retreated backward a few steps as her heartbeat accelerated. Not with passion but with the fear of discovery.

I’m essentially betraying Averly.

“What are you doing?” She stopped short of wiping the scant moisture from her lips. “I’m a married woman now, and that was far too scandalous.” Additionally, she had bonded close to Averly in recent days. No, she didn’t know what that meant but she wanted the freedom to explore it.

He laughed as he took her hand. “That didn’t seem to matter when you wrote me that letter. Frankly, I can’t fathom that you would have fallen for the duke’s charms in a mere four days.”

Had it only been a handful of days since she’d met and married him? To her it had felt like a lifetime, or at the very least a couple of weeks. She’d lived and matured much in that span of time. Had he?

“Do shut up.” She yanked her hand from his. “Why are you here?”

“To finish the task you set for me.” When he tried to take her hand again, she darted out of his reach. “What ails you, Imogen? You used to adore it when I showed physical affection.”

“I still do, of course, but I think you need to limit that to hugging or a polite buss of the cheek in greeting.”

A frown turned his lips downward. “You do understand that the duke still has a mistress, don’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Clearly, he doesn’t respect you as a woman or a wife, so why are you acting squeamish about kissing me?”

“I…” What was there to say? Confusion circled through her mind, for her cousin was correct. Averly hadn’t severed his relationship with Lady Miriam, and it didn’t matter the reason why. Since it had only been four days since she’d wed him, once a month had passed, would he go back to her, even if they didn’t have intercourse any longer? Once he succeeded in getting her with child, would he seek her out, or would he take a new woman under his protection as a mistress since Miriam was dying? Slowly, she shook her head as Philip stood staring at her with a frown. “It doesn’t matter, for I’m certain he will do the right thing, so I would like for you to forget what I asked of you in my letter.”

“I don’t think I can.”

Knots of worry pulled in her belly as icy fingers of fear played her spine. “What are you saying?”

“Sweeting, listen to me.” Once more, he took possession of her hand and tugged her closer to himself. Fervor and earnestness reflected in his blue eyes. “When your letter arrived, it spurred me into thinking. You and I have rubbed along well together over the years, and I realized that it would be a shame for us not to continue that.”

“Stop.” She held up her free hand. “I am married to the duke, and that’s final.”

“It isn’t.” When he reeled her closer, he slipped a hand to the small of her back. Ordinarily, she would have been thrilled to be with him like that, perhaps would have even gone as far as to tease him into scandal, but since reaching that turning point with Averly and having bonded with him yesterday, it was all too wrong to court another man’s affections.

Especially her cousin.

“I don’t understand.”

“Run away with me. Hang the duke. I will protect you where everyone else failed, and you know Averly will too. His reputation practically demands that he will.” When he attempted to nuzzle the crook of her shoulder, hot guilt poured into her chest, and she once more pushed out of his hold. “We have been lovers, Imogen, and we are best friends. It makes sense.”

To her remembrance, they had shared such intimacy a few times over the years, and most of those times she didn’t think were serious. It was a way to pass the time or a way to defy convention or try to fill the emptiness that was always in her chest because he understood her. “Ordinarily, I would agree with you, but I’m married. To Averly. I am his duchess. And though my marriage might have started off like oil and water, it’s evening out, I believe, and I would like to see where that path leads.”

“But you were forced to marry him.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“It’s wrong and you know it.” A bit of forceful annoyance propelled the words into the air. Anger flashed in his eyes. “Everything was just fine until you decided that Averly was your last hope to have any sort of life beyond scandal and rumor, and then you tossed yourself away on him.”

“Ha! What a bammer, Philip. You know Papa forced my hand because he wanted the property and coin Averly offered.”

“Perhaps, but you could have fought more strenuously. Hell, you could have run away with me at that time.” He shook his head, once more took her hand. “Surely you must know that I’m nearly in love with you.”

“Oh.” That took some of the strength from her argument. It was more than she had with her husband. And hadn’t Averly told her after their vows that he would never love her or give her his heart? Despite the recent closeness between them, could she truly live a lifetime with a man who didn’t love her and never would? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have changed your mind or intent?”

“I don’t know.” At least it was honest.

“Now you do.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back all the while holding her gaze. “Come away with me. Leave Averly to his vices and let him destroy himself. I shall treat you like a queen, and we’ll enjoy a happy life.”

It was a rather tempting speech, and she almost teetered, but then she remembered what her husband could make her do during their couplings, how he made her feel, and most of all, how she couldn’t ignore the thought that he was as broken as she. They needed each other. And if only either of them could have the courage to be honest and share their pain, their relationship might take yet another turning point.

And it continued to give her hope. That was a powerful motivator.

“I appreciate your offer, truly I do.” Once more she slipped her hand from Philip’s. “But I need to hold firm to my decision. I am married to Averly, and as his wife, I will remain true to him, regardless of what he does or is.”

He blew out a breath then shoved a hand through his hair. “What if you were a widow, then? Would you finally consider my offer?”

“I suppose, but Averly is quite healthy, he’ll—” She gasped as she stared at her cousin. “You mean to kill him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Only as a fulfillment of your wishes.” He gave her a half bow from the waist. “I take my promises quite seriously. And when next we meet, duchess, it will be a joyful occasion.” With a wink, he went deeper into the orchard and was soon swallowed by the trees and shrubberies while Imogen stood staring after him.

Well, drat. What now? Because if her husband discovered her subterfuge, regardless of why she’d started it, he would certainly track Philip to earth and kill him.

If her cousin didn’t get to him first.

I am a horrible person, indeed. With a stifled cry, she slowly made her way out of the orchard, desperate to find a way to stop… everything.